I called it by the second quarter. I said, “Trevor is sick. Ten bucks says he is sick. He’s not playing like he is tired, he’s playing like he is sick.” A mother knows these things. Even if I’m not his mother, I could just tell. I can even smell a fever on a kid’s breath. For Real.
They poo-pooed me.
By the third quarter, Trevor’s head and legs and arms would be down the court, but his butt was still dragging on the other end of the court. The boy was sucking wind like a fish out of water. This boy is one of the top scorers in the county, and he could hardly get to the basket this game.
“He’s sick, I tell you.”
They poo-pooed me.
He wasn’t even trying for rebounds, and at one point, I swear he looked green. “He doesn’t need Gatorade,” I shook my head, “he needs chicken soup and his bed.”
They poo-pooed me.
Critter decided it was his job to sub for Trevor’s dad, Ty, who couldn’t be at the game tonight. Ty is, er, passionate when watching a game. Yelling “You Suck!” to a ref is par for the course, in Ty’s world. Garrick has been watching and learning…ever the dedicated pupil. I did not allow him to yell “You Suck!” but he did yell other, nearly as insulting things to the refs. “You Stink!” can sound pretty menacing from that boy. Ty would have been proud.
When the game was over, we met Trev courtside. The first question I asked was, “Are you sick?”
“Yeah.” He firmly agreed. “My stomach really hurts.”
“YES!” I laughed, and clapped with glee. This was, er, not the reaction anyone was expecting.
“I mean, I’m sorry that you’re not feeling well, and all, but I’ve been telling them and telling them that something was wrong with you!” I couldn’t have been more pleased with my instinctual accuracy.
Trev just looked at me politely, and then gently took a slow step back.
Critter went in for a picture with him, and I am not sure, but I think Trev was using him as a human shield.
But I was right, dagnabbit. I am feeling very smug in my Mommy-ness right now.
No one ever listens to me.
Mama Boe 